


medievalesque

by insight



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Bantering, Bratprince!Dean, Experienced!Castiel, Flirting, Friendship, Hatred at First Sight, Jousting, Knight!Castiel, Love, M/M, POV Mary Winchester, POV Outsider, Pining Dean, Swordfighting, Top!Castiel, bottom!Dean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-11-05
Packaged: 2018-04-22 11:15:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4833344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insight/pseuds/insight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of medieval-themed vignettes beginning with Mary Winchester's POV on her son, Dean, being trained to fight by the Angel, Castiel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Reposting fic for this fanart- 
> 
> http://astroize-archive.tumblr.com/post/20997496116

She notices the way he looks at her son, all hard, resentful looks. Mary’s husband, John, had decreed that the angel-knight’s bond would only be broken if Dean trained under Castiel’s tutelage.

Mary had never given her approval to John’s edict- she had never wanted free will to be taken from the angels, for them to be bound to the earth when they were meant to be free in the sky. Sure, she sees them circling and swooping above the Winchester Castle, free to roam the land but it is as a falcon that must always hearken back to its falconer: John bids the angels be still and the angels must be still.

She remembers an angel once telling her to ‘ _Be unafraid_ ’- she thinks that this indentured servitude that John has forced upon the angels is poor recompense for the comfort she once received from Anna.

But John will insist, will be pig-headed and narrow-minded when it comes to the protection he has sworn for the people of his kingdom- it is an oxymoron, John’s brutish actions guided by John’s need to protect his people. Mary would have sympathized if she had not numbered many of the angels to be her friends.

She is glad that Gabriel, at least, has had his bonds dissolved.

But she sees Anna, Rachel and Hester on the training grounds nearly everyday. And, though, they never betray their resentment at being tied to House Winchester, Mary can _imagine_ and she can see the unfettered beauty in their movements on the training field, the passion and the ringing clatter and bang of their swords, how they were never meant to be tamed and were always meant to be wild.

Mary sighs as she turns her head to look at where Castiel stands on the training ground, straight-backed and unsmiling. Dean meanwhile stands with a hip cocked out and a stubborn expression on his face, brows drawn down- Mary immediately recognizes her son to be in a stroppy mood, the kind where he brings out the swagger and the provocative words.

If she’s honest, Mary would confess to being a little concerned about her son’s well-being. That indomitable spirit of Dean’s will get him in trouble one day and while Mary knows that Castiel would not hurt Dean deliberately, she also knows that there is no love lost between the two.

Mary draws closer to where the two are facing off- she imagines that she will have to mediate at some point, perhaps even throw herself bodily between the two because Castiel’s look seems to darken evermore, the longer he considers Dean.

Meanwhile, Dean’s smile has turned mean, and he idly twirls his sword in his hand, careless as you please.

Mary cannot help but notice how beautiful both men are, though, how well they contrasted with each other- Castiel tanned and dark and Dean, her fair sun-kissed son: Mary considers Dean’s good looks with an almost smirking maternal pride.

She watches as Castiel teaches Dean how to bring a sword down and up in an under-cut, how he goes through the motions slowly and clearly and, at least, he is sincere in teaching this art to Dean, Mary thinks. Castiel waits for Dean to demonstrate what he has learned and Mary watches how Dean’s innate skill takes over, how his fighting stance is natural-born until it suddenly isn’t.

Castiel’s angelic reflexes had swept under Dean’s guard to disarm the prince and at the same time to push the prince to the ground. Mary can feel her heart beating rapidly as she watched Castiel staring down at Dean with a haughty, bored look on his face.

‘Your enemies will never fight a clean fight,’ Castiel says expressionlessly as he stares down at Dean whose face is fairly shining with an incandescent rage. ‘It’s the human condition to be underhanded,’ Castiel continues on inexorably, ‘We angels have had to adapt to humanity’s ways in matters of combat.’

‘I imagine you find that to be oh-so-very demeaning, knight-angel,’ Dean hisses finally.

‘I am tasked with teaching you to fight, boy,’ Castiel says evenly, ignoring Dean’s retort. ‘A hopeless task, I should think, because I do not imagine you to know the true measure of a sword- the nobility and honor within its making and its wielding.’

‘Do you enjoy having your prince on his back and at your feet?’ Dean demands hotly, ignoring Cas equally in return.

Mary thinks that there would be a lot more equanimity between the two if they would just stop ignoring each others words. Then again, perhaps their words would just incite them to murder each other.

Castiel’s mouth curves into a mean smile as he gives Dean’s body a slow and exacting once-over. ‘I don’t see anything particularly enjoyable on display at the moment.’

A palpable hit, Mary thinks dryly, as Dean flushes, his fists settling on the ground as he pushes himself up off them and back onto his feet. Dean leans in until millimetres separate his and Castiel’s face, ‘I’ve heard all about your dalliances, Sir Knight! You speak of honor and nobility with your mouth when it is heard that you sully such good and stout words with that selfsame mouth.’ Here Dean mimes a gesture that Mary really should not be shocked to learn that her son knows- and yet here Mary is with her hand over her mouth in shock, and it seems Dean’s not finished, ‘How you’re a slu-‘

‘That is enough, the both of you!’ Mary intervenes, giving Dean the sternest look she can muster. Dean subsides shame-facedly enough, and Mary turns her coldest look upon Castiel as he straightens from his deferent obeisance to her. Her blue eyes meet his blue eyes, and she sees him for the good person that he is and indeed a large part of her secretly admires the fight that he puts up, how he does not take the slights that Dean throws upon him with peaceable expressions. But this is not seemly, nor the proper way for a Queen’s son to be treated.

‘My son will not be provoked,’ Mary states evenly and she ensures that Castiel hears the command in her voice. Castiel meets her eyes, and then stares past her as he folds his hands behind his back and gives a short nod. Mary eyes the severe line of his mouth for a moment before she about-faces sharply only to catch Dean openly pulling a terrible face in Castiel’s direction.

Mary sighs and shakes her head, even as she turns her son around and steers him back to the castle.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel and Dean before a jousting tournament- sass and banter (takes place a few months after the previous chapter).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic for this fanart-
> 
> http://astroize-archive.tumblr.com/post/24044177931/lyrewing-astroize-your-hiiiiiiighness-so
> 
> \- which has made me want to write about the moment where Cas sasses Dean with his title into _all of the fics_ in this series, it’s like 5x04’s ‘our fearless leader’.

Castiel’s hands are well-shaped and elegant, and are currently the bane of Dean’s existence. Dean stands utterly still as Castiel works around him, hooking the cuirass to the back piece and smoothing those strong hands across Dean’s torso, tugging to make sure that the fastenings are secure and making Dean’s breath catch with each pass of Castiel’s hands.

He won’t meet Castiel’s gaze, afraid that he’ll betray these sudden strange feelings that he has been having and he exhales shakily when the knight abruptly kneels before him to test the fastenings of Dean’s poleyns to leg greaves. He stares down at the top of Castiel’s head and is struck by the sudden desire to touch the knight-angel’s head in a show of benediction, of affection, of faith. 

If it wasn’t so stupid, Dean would imagine that he might be touching _aurelous_ , the physical manifestation of Castiel’s Grace.

Dean imagines he must have made contact with that intangible thing because he feels a warm prickling across his skin. The feeling only intensifies when Cas rises to his feet with silken grace, eyes clear and bright, a pink flush across the tops of his tanned cheeks. Dean looks away, skittish, until Castiel’s hands come up to bracket his face.

It’s _intimate_ , is what it is, Dean thinks crazily as he stares into Castiel’s arctic blue eyes. But Castiel’s face is serene, is calm, as he looks at Dean, _into_ Dean. And when Castiel smiles it is like the sun rising which Dean thinks is an absurd simile because it’s just a tiny little quirk, the smallest of curves to Cas’ lips. Yet it is beginning to mean the world to Dean and today that smile is both soft and challenging, for _today_ is the day of the tournament.

‘You have brought me to this moment,’ Dean says finally, voice gruff with emotion.

Castiel’s gives an imperious tilt of his head and everything about him is suddenly _so dear_ that Dean forgets to breathe.

‘Does that make me your hero, _your highness_?’ the knight murmurs, lowering his eyes mock-demurely. Dean knows it’s meant as a playful gesture, hearkening back to so many moments in the past when they were at each others throats and Castiel would pull out that royal title, fling it at Dean’s feet scornfully. But looking at the gentle fan of Castiel’s sooty-black lashes and the way Castiel still- _still_!- has his big hands framing Dean’s face, Dean has to remind himself that it would be a very bad idea to give into temptation. Very Bad Idea, Dean tells himself sternly and pictures John’s face to emphasise the point.

It doesn’t stop him from wanting, though, the ache bone-deep.

‘It makes you my best friend,’ Dean confesses and damn but his voice shakes when he gets that out, the naked honesty for all to hear.

Castiel’s eyes widen, and from this close Dean sees just how stunning it is to stare into all of that sudden and brilliant flare of blue.

Dean doesn’t know what to do with his arms encased as they are in the heavy metalpieces of his armor- a sudden reminder that he has a tournament to win- but he wants to put them around Castiel’s body and hug him. In a _totally manful way_ , of course.

Castiel’s hands fall away from his face but Dean is not left feeling bereft because Castiel is picking up his hand instead, and Dean stares down at where they’re basically holding hands. In a totally manful way, of course, because Dean notices that his own fingernails are dirty, and the backs of Castiel’s hands are stained with some kind of red-brown dust- so basically it’s all very masculine, this moment that they are having.

Castiel had leant back a little when he’d let go of Dean’s face but now he leans in again with a conspiratorial look on his face. ‘I hadn’t wanted to tell you this as I know exactly how insufferable you can be but-,' and here the knight-angel pauses and assumes a look of great pomp on his face, - sometimes, _very occasionally_ , and _quite by accident _, I have found myself thinking that you are my beloved prince, and that you have my heart as you surely do have the hearts of the people of the kingdom.’__

__Dean stares at him and tries not to be blown away by the fact that Castiel just confessed his love to him._ _

__‘Don’t let it go to your head- it was all _quite by accident_. In fact, I feel that you have bludgeoned me into feeling this way for you- all those knocks on the training field, they must’ve addled my head,’ Castiel enunciates with a straight face, but his blue eyes are so-clear and shining and Dean feels faint because he has to go win a tournament and _definitely_ not get himself killed in the process. Because if Castiel is saying what Dean thinks he’s saying then Dean needs to be alive after the tournament so he can come back to Castiel, and, and- _yea_ , Dean needs to stop that train of thought right there because Very Bad Idea._ _

__Castiel fucks it all up, though, fucks with all of Dean’s _saintly_ restraint when he strokes his thumb across the inside of Dean’s wrist and Dean’s mouth drops open because he’s a Son of Sybaris, and that was _good touch_ right there, whisper-soft and teasing._ _

__Dean closes his mouth and then licks across his dry lips. Castiel turns away from him and crosses to the clothesframe that holds Dean’s ceremonial robes. Dean picks up his sword and straps it to his thigh. And when Castiel reaches over to swing Dean’s robes around him, Dean catches him about the waist and kisses that proud mouth because he _wants_ to and there is nothing Very Bad about it because it feels too good._ _

__Castiel leans back from the all-too-brief contact to smile at Dean, ‘Consider that my token for the joust. Although, I am no lady maiden, prince. I am as you are.’_ _

__‘You are all that I’ve ever wanted and never knew until this moment,’ Dean mumbles shyly._ _

__Castiel’s eyes close and open, the look so wondering on his face that Dean has to turn away or be overcome._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I luv comments!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel takes on John's bad attitude over Dean.
> 
> Dean hates to like Castiel for it.
> 
> (Chronologically, this Chapter comes before Chapter 2.)

There was a glowing pendant hanging from Castiel's neck, bouncing off of his chest as he moved forward and back at the royal drawing table, going over the map that he and the King were working with. Dean knew that they were talking about going to war with the Siderians - Dean's father thought it would be best to discuss how to make a three-pronged attack on the Siderians with his Chief Strategist: it's at these times that Dean is reminded of how Castiel is as old as dirt as the knight-angel shares his personal expertise on the battles he fought centuries ago against the Siderians. 

Normally Dean paid more attention to this kind of stuff. But Dean was slowly noticing that he tended to pay a bit too much attention to how Castiel's muscles looked under his thin navy tunic and how his neck flexed as Castiel stretched and cracked it.

Dean was pretty sure that Castiel was the most attractive man he had ever seen with his dark hair curling sweet behind his ears and falling shaggy around his too-blue eyes, the neatness of his stubble and jaw.

Too bad Castiel was an ass.

Dean tried not to stare so much, but honestly it was getting harder not to- sometimes he swore that Castiel was staring back at him.

There were days where Castiel could be cordial and then Dean would find himself growing appallingly smitten. Like the time he found Castiel talking to one of the other Knights, Inias, about 'the simple matter of partial differential equations' and Dean had joined the discussion with his own nascent interest after reading da Vinci's works- Castiel had not once condescended to him. For all that the Knight insulted Dean (and Dean was beginning to realize that Castiel was simply giving back as good as he got from Dean's fucking endless lip), Castiel made it a point to not belittle Dean. It was almost honorable, Dean thought dryly.

What possibly made Dean's 'puppyish infatuation' (Sam's dumb words not Dean's!) worsen was the time he walked by an alcove in the Great Library and stopped when he heard Castiel's unmistakably deep, gravelly voice and Sam's laughter. He had poked his head around and seen most of the children of Winchester Castle packed into the little room and Castiel obviously being their treasured storyteller. One little boy- couldn't have been more than 3 or 4 years old- was sitting at Castiel's feet and had both his hands wrapped around Castiel's ankle with such a look of adoration on his face that Dean chuckled before realizing that that kid might actually be the personification of Dean's own crush on the guy- the guy who was an _ass_ by-the-by, Dean reminded himself. A veritable army of little girls were perched on Sam's long legs, as were also perched on Castiel's leg as the Angel narrated The Odyssey with word-perfect precision- that long-ass poem, Dean thought, and Castiel saying it all from memory with dramatic flares and inflections in that soothingly rough brandy-warm voice.

Ok, so Castiel was a kickass warrior with a peculiar penchant for partial differentials and a weird amount of The Odyssey stored away in that big brain of his. Nothing about that was attractive at all, Dean thought, like, seriously, what a weird little guy.

Dean starts as his father calls his name, and he realizes that he spaced out enough that John noticed. His father frowns at him for the lapse even as Castiel runs hands through his already messy black locks.

'Dean am I making a mistake in offering you the honor to captain a garrison for this campaign alongside Knight Novak? We need men with their heads in the game, son, I won't stand for a space cadet having charge of my men.'

Dean flushes and raps out a, 'Sorry, sir.'

John eyes him severely and exchanges a look with Castiel who in turn raises a sardonic eyebrow. ' I still counsel against it, Your Majesty- the boy is too young and furthermore he is your heir.'

'I don't believe in mollycoddling my sons, Sir Knight,' John says forbiddingly. He continues talking to Castiel even as he turns an icy look on Dean, 'And there is always Sam- our royal lineage continued with an heir and a spare. It is an endless source of comfort to know that Sam at least has his wits about him at all times.'

Castiel's expression carefully blanks, as Dean heroically masks the stinging hurt of his father's open slight.

'If you counsel against it because of Dean's likely inept military aptitude then I will heed your words, but, though he will continue to act like a child Dean is 16 and a man. I first blooded my sword in war at 14 and conquered these lands when I was the same age as Dean is now. This war is just what Dean needs to make him grow up!' 

Dean flinches and looks down as his father brings a fist down hard on the table.

Castiel looks at John measuredly. 'The Queen would not be pleased to find that you have assigned Dean such a prominent and fraught position in this War.'

Dean bites his lip at the mention of his mother and at how the past 24 hours had been a mad dash to ascertain what had become of her. Dean had wanted to ride out as soon as it became apparent that his mother was not to be found. But Sam had begged him to stay, that the Angels didn't believe her to be in danger of harm, and at least listen to what was being planned before going off half-cocked.

John covers his eyes with one of his hands for a moment before he lets the hand drop and turns a blazing look on his Chief Strategist, 'You well know that the Queen is why we are going to have this damned war in the first place.'

'She is alive and unharmed,' Castiel says steadily.

'I will not rely on your unnatural scrying and psychic abilities. I will not believe it until she is before me in the flesh. This war's primary goal is revenge and I do not care the collateral damage. The public will only think that I intend to expand my territory and we will let them believe that- I intend to burn their kingdom down and salt all Siderian fields,' the King growls.

'I have counseled you against this unilateral decision as I believe it to be foolish- I cannot change your mind on that front and tire of doing so. But on this separate matter- you would send Mary's firstborn to the front lines to carry out this farcical war?'

Dean's jaw drops and he looks up to stare at Castiel whose tone is entirely too insolent, too insouciant, too _treasonous _by far in questioning the King's right to order where his issue must go.__

There is a long and freezing silence.

'Do we have a problem, Knight Novak?' John grounds out pugnaciously, fists clenching.

' _No_ ,' Dean interjects suddenly, afraid of the many schisms fracturing the kingdom since his mother's disappearance. 'There is no problem, father, and you honor me by assigning me this mission- I will bring mother back. I will do as you will.'

Dean catches Castiel's blue eyes flashing out of the corner of his eye, but Dean turns away, turns his whole focus upon his father instead.

John doesn't even acknowledge Dean's acceptance and simply strides out of the War Room, clearly incensed and needing to walk it off.

Castiel does not even wait an appropriate amount of time before he states with swift bluntness, 'Your father has always been insufferable, but now he has become _cruel_. Nevertheless, in the morning we ride for the Queen, Prince Dean. I am sure that she is making her way back to us- your mother is no damsel in distress, she is resourceful and full of strategies as Odysseus. And when we do meet her, I shall be having strong words with her for abandoning me to face her husband's tyrannical ways.'

Dean finds immense comfort in Castiel's words about his mother, but cannot help bristling defensively. 'Dad is doing what's best for the Kingdom and the Family!'

'And what is the point of winning this War, if by winning you lose what you were fighting for?'

Dean doesn't follow.

Castiel smiles slightly, 'I saw you in the Great Library, your Highness, whilst I was indulging the little ones' need for stories. To be perfectly honest, I was also indulging my own need for such tales to be passed on as they were once passed on to me. I spoke of The Odyssey, and also of The Iliad where what was lost through the carnage of war far outweighed anything that was gained- that concept is apt as to what your father intends, and it is what I believe your father unknowingly seeks.'

Dean scowls at Castiel, not wanting to allow any credence to the chilling words; it does not help that Angels are known to be prophetic on occasion and that Castiel's words ring knollingly.

'Would you curse this campaign with your dire words before it is even underway?' Dean demands hotly.

Castiel's face blanks as it did with John, his gaze impassive, a thousand-yard stare once more.

That expression reminds Dean that Castiel is old as dirt, and not of this world. Someone that Dean should _not_ fuck with.

But Dean's got family loyalty in spades and he'll stand up to anyone who says one word against his own.

'You should show me some respect,' Castiel says in rough tones, as he swings that thousand-yard stare back to Dean, intensifies the focus of that arctic blue stare until Dean feels pinned under it, feels like he can't breathe under the expanse of Castiel's alien awareness, feels small and intimidated by the vast spread of that implacable consciousness.

Dean weaves on his feet, breathless as Castiel peers at him closely as if Castiel is burning the oxygen in the air away, the blue halo within the flame. The alien scientist seeking to dissect and classify what is profane and what mundane.

Dean's a sick fuck for fantasising about this unnatural bastard.

Dean licks his lips.

Castiel follows the motion of Dean's tongue and, though the Knight's mouth remains in an impassive straight line, Dean can see the fish-hook curl of a smirk in his gaze.

Dean blinks rapidly, eyelashes fluttering as he looks away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I luv comments!!


End file.
